


Princesses Royal

by clio_jlh



Category: Go Fug Yourself (Blog)
Genre: Aunt-Niece Relationship, Family Feels, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 19:17:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17049050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clio_jlh/pseuds/clio_jlh
Summary: Princess Anne has finally asked Charlotte to consult on her very first case—at Christmas no less!





	Princesses Royal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lirin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lirin/gifts).



> Great thanks to A, who wanted more clothing porn.

* * *

“There’s something suspicious at Sandringham,” Great-Aunt Anne said, “and you’re the only chemist I can trust.” She paused. “Also the best, of course, but that’s of less importance in this instance.”

“Of course,” Charlotte replied, setting down her safety glasses. “Any way I can help.”

Anne nodded once, sharply. “Bring your kit to Christmas,” she said. 

“But—“

“I’ll take care of your father,” Aunt Anne said, and with a swirl of her cloak she left Charlotte’s rooms as suddenly as she had appeared. 

A Princess does not squeal with delight when given a job to do. A Princess does any and all work for the Crown cheerfully, knowing how lucky one was to be able to do such important work, for it was all important work. 

But on very special occasions, once one is sure that the hallway and the courtyard were empty of great aunts, one might dance about one’s room in triumph.

* * *

There have been seven official Princesses Royal, and they have married well. One was a Queen, another an Empress, and a third regent in the Netherlands for her young son. 

The current Princess Royal was an Olympian in her own right and no one really bothers about who her husband is.

* * *

Charlotte had shared a room at Sandringham House with her second cousin Mia since forever; _that_ didn’t change when Gan-Gan died. The Yorks and the Edinburghs stayed in Windsor now, but Great-Aunt Anne’s family always came, because of course they did.

“Also,” Savannah said once, conspiratorially, “I think Uncle Charles is afraid to tell Grandma not to come.” Charlotte tried to imagine George ever denying anything to Savannah, never mind herself, but couldn’t picture it. They’d have to build an annex once he became king for all the third and fourth cousins. 

The chemistry kit was under the bed, out of sight, though Mia watched her stow it with a raised eyebrow. “You know Grandma being a detective is all nonsense, don’t you?”

“Actually, it isn’t,” Charlotte replied calmly, though she could feel her face grow hot. Mia played rugby and was headed into the Army once she left university; she had no poetry in her soul, much less science. 

Mia shrugged, and lay across her bed. “Isla says Uncle Peter says it’s a sign of aging.”

“Since when do we put much stock in what Isla says?”

“True, but these cases never come to anything.”

“That you know of.”

A ginger head popped in the door, and Charlotte cursed herself for speaking so openly when anyone could have overheard. This detective business would take some getting used to. 

“Hullo, girls,” said Uncle Harry. “Have you seen—“

“No,” they said quickly, not bothering to wait on which of his lot was missing. The Sussexes were never where one expected them to be. 

“Hmm,” he said, mostly to himself, brows knit. “I wonder …”

“He’s in the kitchen, of course,” Aunt Anne said, coming into view. “I don’t know why you don’t always look there first.”

“I thought surely all the cooking he’d done with his mother this week was enough!”

Aunt Anne shook her head. “Mia, is there any such thing as enough rugby?”

“Certainly not, Grandma,” Mia replied, shocked at the idea. 

“So it’s like that,” Uncle Harry said, leaning against the door jamb. “Well, he is his mother’s son.” He smiled, as he always did when he thought of Aunt Meghan, and Charlotte was very glad she’d got over her early adolescent embarrassment at the two of them and their open affection even now, fifteen years on. 

“Now don’t just stand here woolgathering,” Aunt Anne said, her tone making Uncle Harry stand up straight. “He’s sure to be getting in the cook’s way down there.”

“I—“

“Go on! Off with you!” Aunt Anne said, waving her hands.

Uncle Harry, to his credit, did as he was told. 

"Right. Charlotte? I will need you in the library. Bring your kit."

Charlotte pulled the case out from beneath the bed and followed, not daring to look back at Mia.

Aunt Anne unlocked the door—which Charlotte had never known to be locked before—and on the center table were several bottles of alcohol, and the decanters Charlotte recognized from the bar carts in various sitting rooms. 

"As you can see, I've noted where each bottle was located this morning," Aunt Anne said, "so mind you put them back immediately. Chain of evidence, so important in any case."

Charlotte turned to Aunt Anne. "Are we testing for poisons?"

"Of course not," Aunt Anne replied, sniffing. "We have protection officers for that sort of thing. We're testing for proof. My father may be gone but that does not mean we can start watering down the whisky."

Charlotte pulled out a hydrometer and took a tumbler from the side table. "Any suspects?"

"A few," Aunt Anne replied. "Here is a key. I'll leave you to it—but please lock up when you've finished."

"I'll let you know the results as soon as I have them," Charlotte replied, keeping her expression professional, but Aunt Anne was already walking away.

"See that you do," she said, and slipped out the door. 

A Princess does not let personal feelings keep her from the job at hand. A Princess does all work knowing that Princesses are direct representatives of HM the King, and behave accordingly.

But when one begins to see a pattern in one's results, one might pause for just a moment for a fist pump.

* * *

Since the re-introduction of the title of Princess Royal for the eldest daughter of the monarch, the title has passed from aunt to niece twice, and from great aunt to grandniece three times. Charlotte would be the fourth, if her father chose to give her this title. 

Sometimes Charlotte wondered if Great Aunt Anne had as much admiration for Princess Mary as Charlotte did for Anne herself. Anne had only been twelve when Princess Mary died, but was now just eighty and likely had years of life left.

* * *

Charlotte didn't have time, between tabulating the results, replacing all the evidence, and changing into her gown for dinner, to report her thoughts back to Great Aunt Anne when they might be alone. Instead, she took a chance while they assembled in the drawing room before dinner, knowing that His Majesty was nearly always a bit late, to approach Aunt Anne as she stood alone before the fire. Saying nothing, she slipped a card out of her pocket and into Aunt Anne's gloved hand.

Aunt Anne pulled on the glasses that hung from a chain around her neck. "As I suspected," she said, nodding, then put the card in her own pocket. "Write this up immediately after dinner and we'll present this to His Majesty. We've no time to waste if we're to avert disaster."

"Yes, Ma'am," Charlotte replied. 

A Princess may occasionally be called upon to excuse herself from pleasant activities such as family games for the Greater Good. In such circumstances, knowing one's audience is of great assistance. 

Knowing that one's younger brother will happily cover for one's absence in exchange for extra chocolates also helps.

* * *

Of the seven Princesses Royal, two have been Annes, two have been Marys, and one has been Victoria—not a name likely to be repeated. 

Princess Charlotte the Princess Royal, daughter of George III, came into the title after her great aunt Anne. 

It is difficult, when one is in a family with so much history, not to notice this.

* * *

“Impressive as always, Anne,” the king said as the footman left the room. 

They were sat in his office, and Charlotte could scarcely breathe as he reviewed her report. Yes, he was still her Grandpa England, but this was Official Business. They were even still in their formal dinner clothes. 

He peered at her over his glasses. “You as well, Charlotte, particularly as it is your very first case.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Well, what is to be done?” he asked, setting down his tablet. “Our decanters have been refilled, and the watered-down spirits reserved for tomorrow evening’s punch. The culprit has been sent for. What do you think would be a suitable punishment, Charlotte?”

“I would just like to know why,” she said. 

The King nodded. “A very good place to start, indeed.”

A footman announced “the Earl of Dumbarton, sir,” and at the king’s nod, a teenaged boy with a head full of auburn curls and bright blue eyes entered and bowed. 

“Sit down,” the king began. “Now, we understand you’ve been putting water into all the decanters at Sandringham House. Don’t bother to deny it; your aunt has put forth an airtight case against you. What we would all like to know is your reason for doing such a thing.”

He slumped slightly in his chair. “Mum visited a center for addicts last week and she talked to us about it at dinner after and when we got here I saw so much of it around and thought it might be better.” He shrugged. 

Charlotte closed her eyes so as not to be seen rolling them. The Sussexes were dears; she _adored_ her cousins and would defend them against anyone. But they were, every one of them, too sincere by half. 

“Do you believe anyone in the family to have a problem with drink?”

“No, sir!” he replied, looking surprised at the thought. 

“Well then, my dear boy, liquor is a key component of a true English Christmas! It acts as a kind of social lubricant that allows us to cram into this house each year like sardines and still greet each other pleasantly at the breakfast table.”

“Hear, hear,” Anne added. 

“I’m sorry,” the boy said. 

“Your punishment, then, is to apologize to all the adults, in person, and explain your reasoning if asked. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you can begin with your Aunt Anne here.”

His eyes flew wide. Both of Charlotte’s brothers and all her male cousins were terrified of Great Aunt Anne and while Charlotte allowed that she could intimidate, she wasn’t frightening. But he stood before her nonetheless. 

“I’m sorry for watering down the drinks,” he said. 

“I accept your apology,” Aunt Anne replied. 

“Excellent start. You’d best get going if you’re to speak to them all before bed.”

“Yes, sir,” he said, and bowed before all but running out of the room. 

“Quite a first case, Charlotte. I will be expecting great things from you, now that you’re working with Anne, here.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Her grandfather leaned forward. “Did you know that when she was not much older than you are now, she foiled her own kidnapping?”

The Princess Royal snorted. “That man was an idiot,” she said, but her eyes were twinkling. 

Charlotte smiled and settled back into her chair. She had heard the rough outlines of the incident, of course, but to get the story from the woman herself would be something else again. 

After all, Princesses knew when to speak, and when to sit back and listen.

* * *


End file.
